


Mesmerising

by Prompoms



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fingerfucking, M/M, Prompto Argentum is from Niflheim, Trans Prompto Argentum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 06:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18959311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prompoms/pseuds/Prompoms
Summary: Prompto, a prince of Niflheim, is sent to the Lucian royal family as a customary peace token, and he gets a personal welcome from a certain handsome advisor.





	Mesmerising

It’s tradition, Prompto knows. The peace between Niflheim and Lucis is tentative at best, and this “agreement” of sorts keeps the balance, keeps them in some semblance of peacetime. As a matter of course, the youngest princes and princesses are sent as offerings – marriage or otherwise – to the Lucian royal family. It keeps them intertwined, the two nations’ royal lines wrapped up in each other, and for the most part it keeps things civil and amicable. It doesn’t, however, stop the whole process being called a _hostage situation_ within Niflheim’s walls. Of course… it’s also not as though Lucis is a warring nation, certainly not compared to Nifleim: the propaganda is, always has been, about gaining territory, expansion, widening the Imperial belt… but those matters are a far cry from Prompto’s expertise. 

He’s a prince, sure, but the Emperor’s _thirteenth_ child and so far away from any possibility of ever ascending to the throne or a position of real influence that he’s utterly disposable. Prompto isn’t a fool; this union has been on the cards from the time he could walk, but even the Emperor isn’t fooling himself into thinking they can press a marriage if the Lucians aren’t entirely on board – but the next most likely alternative makes Prompto’s skin crawl. He’ll deal with _that_ outcome if it comes to it.  
  
To a certain extent though, it does, he muses, make sense: Noctis Lucis Caelum is only a few months his senior if that, a young man and next in line to the Lucian throne. Prompto knows all too well that he may be a comparatively low-ranking prince, but he’s still Niflheim, still a useful bargaining chip the Lucians may be able to benefit from. It’s a better prospect than Prompto could have hoped for, having a chance to meet the heir apparent to the Lucian throne, and maybe for that, he should be grateful.  
  
It’s hard to be grateful the first day as he’s paraded through Insomnia’s streets, surrounded by an armed guard. He’s got his own staff, guards and one or two servants he’s asked for by name, but mostly he’s flanked by Crownsguard: they’re big – huge, some of them – and Prompto is silent in the back of the sleek car they’ve tucked him into, a good way back in the procession. There’s no real fanfare, no real fuss – part of the agreement was that the whole exchange took place under a veil of secrecy, which seems a tad ironic given how _extra_ the Lucians have been thus far - but he feels much, _much_ too much like a hostage in all this, a far cry from the suitor that his documents proudly proclaim. It’s also, evidently, Insomnia’s worst kept secret, because as Prompto watches through heavily tilted windows it’s not lost on him the way people stop and watch, eyeing the cars and murmuring amongst themselves.  
  
Staring out the window as the car pulls up in front of the citadel, the city and its palace are undeniably beautiful, he’ll give them that much. Insomnia is bustling with life and brightness, much different to any of Niflheim’s territories which in spite of the Emperor’s pride in them are so often desolate places, deserts and snowfields. The combination of ancient magic of the Wall, and sleek modern architecture of tall buildings that glitter in the sunlight is mesmerising, and for the first time Prompto is a little more enthusiastic about exploring. The Wall itself shimmers like some sort of oasis in the light, and it’s sheer size is breathtaking: King Regis’s, and by extension Noctis’s, magic must be crazy strong to maintain that around the clock.  
  
There’s a flurry of movement, and more Glaive, and Prompto is led into the throne room to be presented to King Regis, who greets him like he’s a treasured guest and welcomes him to his ‘new home’. Even as Prompto bows low ad murmurs his thanks, eyes on the floor and letting discussions about his trip, the unremarkable journey, flow over and around him, he’s is struck by how kind Regis is, how genuinely caring. It’s a stark contrast to the Emperor, who is so… Prompto doesn’t know, doesn’t dare to consider the word he’d use. His grandfather is regal, but cold, calculated, and entirely unlike Regis. Eventually Prompto straightens, and Regis nods them away, but not before casting him a smile that strikes Prompto as almost... apologetic. He can’t read the look and the King does not elaborate on it before he nods to the Glaive and they lead Prompto deeper stil into the palace, down winding corridors and passages away from the prying eyes of the public.  
It’s curious, how the address with Regis seems to relax his guard, and when the doors close, they begin to talk amongst themselves, even chuckling softly at shared jokes. Emperor Iedolas, Prompto knows, would never entertain such a lack of propriety, but then, MagiTech guards always suited the Emperor much better than any mortal man could.  
  
Relieved by the lull in the tension in the air, Prompto takes a second to eye the Glaive curiously. Most of them a good deal older than himself, and Prompto can’t not notice that they’re all well-muscled and armed to the teeth, even within the palace walls. His eyes move from one to the next, but there are two that stand out, both a few years Prompto’s senior but clearly of a different calibre to the others in their party. One of them is ripped and rather imposing, with chestnut hair, amber eyes and old scars that cross his otherwise handsome face, and another youth who walks beside him, slim and elegant and not at all like the other Glaive; from what Prompto can tell, he isn’t armed, and his sandy blonde head is tilted towards his companion as they talk in low voices, green eyes calm and certain behind his glasses. Prompto’s gaze lingers on them, and wondering what they’re discussing, he’s a tad disappointed that neither of them look his way.  
  
Eventually, _finally_ , the Glaive stop before what looks to be an apartment, and pressing Prompto inside, his bags are placed carefully in the entryway before they bow out and leave him be, the lock clicking behind them. Prompto frowns softly, but tries to ignore the thought that echoes in his mind: _gilded cage_.  
  
Glancing around, Prompto has to give credit to the Lucians: his apartment is nice. He’s not sure who, but they’ve actually thought about what he might need and what he might want. Like what must be typical Lucian architecture, the main room is big and light, full-size windows leading onto a balcony overlooking the Citadel’s sweeping grounds. The whole place feels rich, with marble floors and countertops, and there are rugs and textiles in soft cotton and silk. Prompto takes his time, peeking into each of the rooms, setting the layout of the place to memory. He’s got a kitchen, a bathroom with a full-length mirror and bathtub, and a huge, decadent-looking bed that Prompto is damn sure will be a joy to collapse into after the last few days. Still, Prompto’s only human, and it’s the living room that he _really_ likes the look of, tucked into a side room just beyond his kitchen. It’s got all the necessities; a big TV, a couple of soft leather armchairs, bookshelves stacked with games and more DVDs than Prompto can poke a stick at. Flicking through some of the titles, Prompto is impressed: whoever picked these out has taste in both the classics and contemporary movies.  
  
Days pass, and to Prompto’s surprise, he finds that for the most part, he’s quite comfortable in his new apartment. They’ve checked his clothing and luggage, obviously, but from what he can tell nothing has been confiscated – he’s even, by some miracle, been permitted to keep his phone with no questions asked. As it stands, and for lack of an unlocked door to venture back into the Citadel, Prompto spends his days in the lounge, wrapped up under blankets with dim lights and more bad television than he can poke a stick at. It’s kinda nice, at first, just to lounge around in sweatpants, and it occurs to Prompto that he’s probably on lockdown as the Glaive finalise their security detail; Astrals know, his grandfather would have done the same, if not worse, before he’d let loose a Lucian foreigner in their own imperial palace. Still... it’s lonely, and there’s only so much King’s Knight to play, movies to watch and junk food to binge on before Prompto is damn near ready to crawl out of his skin.  
  
It’s a mercy, really, when one evening there’s a soft knock at his door, and Prompto pauses the battle scene to pad on bare feet to the front door, his brows quirking at the irony of it: surely whoever it is could just open it themselves, if they wanted to, but the thought that they’re letting social norms finally come back into Prompto’s quarantined existence is still kinda nice. Pulling the now unlocked door open, Prompto blinks, not able to disguise his surprise at the man before him.  
  
“Good evening.”  
  
It’s one of the younger Glaive he’d noticed that first day, the slender, elegant one. It isn’t lost on Prompto that he’s unaccompanied, not to mention altogether less formal than before in trousers and a dress shirt rolled at the sleeves. Prompto blinks, only catching himself when he realises the expectant look on the taller man’s face. Oh, yeah, he’s meant to react. Say something.  
  
“Uh... hey?” It’s not the _politest_ greeting but Prompto is too nonplussed to notice, and he shifts on the spot: all signs pointed to this being a _less than formal_ visit. Glancing down at himself - sweats and a tank top, his uniform of choice throughout the house arrest experience - Prompto tries at a joke, hoping he doesn’t look as nervous as he feels. Six, he’s really glad he’s bothered showering. “Um, sorry... wasn’t expecting any company.”  
  
“Not at all, Your Highness.” The man smiles, a slow, calm expression that softens his otherwise sharp features, and the expression alone somehow makes Prompto relax, stomach un-knotting itself somewhat before he even had a chance to realise how tense he was. He extends a gloved hand, and Prompto takes it. “I am Ignis Scientia, future Advisor and Hand to the King. I wanted to come and introduce myself properly, seeing as I didn’t get a chance to when you arrived. I trust you’re settling in well?”  
  
“Oh. Uh, yeah, thank you.” Prompto’s eyes are wide, curious and fascinated as he lets his hand drop. Ignis Scientia is... not what he expected. The name is familiar to Prompto, of course, and he’s a little miffed that he didn’t recognise his face sooner; the Lucian monarchy have had certain members of their Crownsguard from the same families for generations, and Ignis’s name has been in circulation across Eos for years. From what Prompto can recall from his appearances on television, Ignis is usually so formal, so dignified, always in dress clothes and so often silent, that it’s a surprise to Prompto how laid back he is now. Unsure, he glances back into his apartment, and then to Ignis. “Oh. Um. Would you like to...?”  
  
There’s that smile again. “It would be a pleasure. If it’s no trouble?”  
  
Shaking his head, Prompto steps aside, and Ignis follows him, green eyes taking in the clutter Prompto has already managed to accumulate on several surfaces; was it his imagination, or did Ignis just _sigh_? He doesn’t get a chance to dwell on it before Ignis moves to sit at the kitchen table, one leg hooking neatly over the other, as those eyes set back on Prompto’s face.  
  
“You seem to have made yourself at home.” Ignis’s tone is conversational, mild, but Prompto’s mind whirls, trying and failing to scrutinise every word and not entirely unconvinced that this is more than an off-duty visit. The next word from the other man’s mouth, though, distracts him. “My apologies, that you’ve been shut in like this, Your Highness. A necessary precaution, you understand.” Ignis, Prompto thinks, sounds genuinely sorry, and shrugging, he offers him a half-grin. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes and six, he hopes Ignis doesn’t comment upon it.  
  
“It’s fine. I’m a stranger, it’s cool.” Dropping into another kitchen chair, Prompto looks at the floor for a moment, before he ventures another step, something he’s said to every servant he’s run into so far: thank the Astrals that they, at least, have humoured him on it. “And, uh, Prompto is fine. Titles get kinda old, you know? Especially in your own home.” It leaves a slightly bitter taste in his mouth, to call this place _home_ right now, but the point remains.  
  
“Of course, Prompto.” Ignis’s lips quirk, and Prompto catches the genuine amusement, and even a certain fondness he can’t make sense of as he continues. “It’s rather amusing, actually. Prince Noctis is the same way with titles. I think he would rather avoid them altogether, if he could.”  
  
“Heh, can’t blame him there.” It’s the first conversation he’s had in days, and now it’s not about himself Prompto finds he’s relaxing, and besides, he can totally agree with that sentiment. Lifting his knees to his chest, Prompto stares at Ignis, the man’s warmth giving him just a little more confidence as he lets his head tip to one side. “So, why’d you come? Like, really? Just to hang out...?”  
  
“I wondered if you’d want company. A friendly face.” It’s not an answer that Prompto expects, and in spite of the calm smile, Ignis’s face is impossible to read. If Prompto didn’t know politics within a royal family as intimately as he does, he might, just _might_ take that response at face value... but contraire to popular belief, Prompto isn’t quite that naive.  
  
“I do.” Chewing on his lower lip, Prompto considers his next comment. “Didn’t think my first Lucian friend would be you, though.” Starting, he flushes; shit, that didn’t sound great. “A-ah, no offense! Just… figured you had better things to do?”  
  
“No?” Ignis gets that amused little smile again that Prompto is starting to notice does funny things to his insides. “On the contrary, Prompto. I think our friendship is the best way to break the ice. The higher-ups are...” He pauses, searching for the right word. “... unsure about you. Wary, you understand. We’re still getting to know you.”  
  
“You… _do_ realise I’ve been locked up in here for days, yeah?”  
  
“Of course. It’s less than ideal, I know. So, I suppose I wanted to come and form my own opinions and get to know you better.”  
  
“Yeah?” Chewing his lower lip, Prompto has to fight not to smile. It shouldn’t be, maybe, but it’s so _refreshing_ to have someone who speaks frankly… or as frankly as someone around here can be expected to, he figures. Leaning forward, he stares at Ignis, trying to play at coy and most likely failing magnificently. “Well, what do you want to know?”  
  
“Well. Are you armed?”  
  
“ _Ignis_.” Prompto should have expected that. He groans, his head dropping unceremoniously onto the table before he glances back up with a pout. “You were there! You know I got searched when I got here!”  
  
“I still need to ask.”  
  
“ _No_! No… I’m not armed.” Prompto grumbles, eyes dropping from Ignis’s; if this is just an informal security check, he wants no part of it. Where would he even put something, if he had it? It’s not like he packed holsters – or any of his firearms, actually – when he got here, and he’s pretty sure that he couldn’t have hidden a concealed weapon from Regis, let alone the whole Glaive.  
  
“Thank you.” Then- “Have people been kind?”  
  
That catches Prompto’s attention, and he stops, straightening back to sit and try to read Ignis’s face. The expression is… interesting: Ignis’s brow is pinched, watching Prompto just as closely as Prompto is him. He doesn’t have to be a genius to realise Ignis is serious, and that the question is genuine, and the thought makes nerves bubble up in his stomach. Is this a trap?  
  
“Um…” Prompto stalls, trying to think of an answer. Ignis probably wouldn’t take brutal honesty personally, but there’s some small, unwelcome, foolish part of Prompto that just does not want to hurt Ignis’s feelings, and he refuses to make eye contact, instead speaking to his hands. “They- I’m a foreigner. Nobody’s been cruel, but… everyone has a job to do, I guess?”  
  
“Hm. I understand.” Prompto glances up; Ignis’s expression is measured as he continues, his tone thoughtful. “They’re wary. As I said. But- you’ve been nothing but compliant throughout this whole unpleasant process. So sweet. I’ll do what I can and see to it you receive a more welcoming greeting, moving forwards.” Ignis doesn’t get to the end of the last sentence before Prompto’s lips part, staring, a flush crawling over his cheeks. Did Ignis just call him--? Prompto’s thoughts crash into one another, confusion and warmth and embarrassment intermingling.  
  
“U-uh, th-thank you!” Prompto is flustered, damning his voice to the Astrals when he realises how many octaves it’s lifted. Not to mention, if he’s not mistaken… Ignis’s brilliant green eyes are glittering behind his glasses. It’s not a predatory look, exactly, but he looks distinctly pleased by - something. Prompto refuses, will _not_ entertain the thought of what might give him that look of satisfaction. Ignis stares at him for a long moment.  
  
“You are…” Ignis trails off as he shakes his head, physically brushing the thought aside, and to Prompto’s shock he shifts, lifting to pull his chair closer to Prompto. They’re elbow-to-elbow now, and Prompto will not, _cannot_ make eye contact with the other man, so he fixes his gaze on Ignis’s hands instead: they’re every bit as beautiful as the rest of him, well-manicured and only partially covered by his gloves, and _Six_ , he should _not_ be letting his mind careen with reckless abandon into the gutter just from Ignis’s fingers. God, fuck.  
  
It’s Ignis who makes the first move though, and Prompto’s heart thuds against his ribcage as the Lucian advisor strokes his fingers over the back of his hand, lacing them together and just…. resting there. Prompto’s mouth feels dry, and after what seems like an age, he dares himself to look up, immediately captivated by the intensity of Ignis’s gaze. There’s no force in it – Prompto is quickly learning that Ignis does not function on force so much as persuasion – but he’s mesmerised nonetheless, almost giddy, lips parting as he waits for Ignis to say or do something.  
  
“I want us to be friends.” Ignis eventually breaks the silence, voice low as he leans in as though he’s sharing a secret. _Gods, he’s so close_. Prompto’s eyes have other ideas, flicking from Ignis’s eyes to his lips and back as he continues. “I think we _will_ be friends, Prompto. You’ve earned that much, and some kindness.”  
  
“Why?” Prompto doesn’t move, staring at Ignis as the word slips from him in a rush. Ignis clearly expects it, and he doesn’t pull back either, his thumb stroking over the back of Prompto’s palm in a way that sends warmth radiating up his arm. Ignis is so gentle. Swallowing, Prompto dares himself to continue. “I mean, I could be a threat to your Prince, right? I could-“  
  
The world stops spinning when Ignis cuts him off, leaning forward enough to close the distance between their lips, a hand lifting to cup Prompto’s cheek before it curls slightly to rest at the nape of his neck, holding the younger man there. Eventually he pulls back enough to draw breath and for a long, long moment they stare at each other. Once again, Ignis is the one to speak.  
  
“A worthwhile observation. You could be a threat, of course.” Prompto’s brows dip slightly, chin dropping for a second before Ignis catches it, gently forcing Prompto to look at him. The smile isn’t lost on him, and Ignis strokes his jaw with those long fingers, considering Prompto. “… but I don’t think you are. I don’t think you’d want to cause such a fuss.”  
  
“No. I don’t.”  
  
Maybe it’s foolish; Prompto realises that. Maybe this greeting, this kindness, is a trap on so many different levels, but Ignis is… he doesn’t get a chance to finish the thought before Ignis is kissing him again, more certain this time, and Prompto lets himself enjoy it: Ignis is a _good_ kisser. He coaxes Prompto’s lips open with his tongue, rising to stand and pour over Prompto, crowding him and pressing him into the back of the chair. It’s heaven after so long with so little physical contact. Prompto’s eyes close, hands lifting to stroke along Ignis’s arms and curl around his shoulders, into his hair, and when they part to breathe Prompto is amazed, delighted, terrified to find real want in Ignis’s eyes.  
  
“You’re handsome.” Ignis’s voice is low, his breath warm against Prompto’s lips, and Prompto can’t help his somewhat flustered grin. _How_ has this gorgeous man noticed him, out of everyone else in Insomnia? Maybe everyone here is just blind and stupid, for Ignis Scientia to be free game.  
  
“You’re not half bad yourself.”  
  
Ignis chuckles, rich and indulgent, and the sound gives Prompto a rush; on impulse he’s standing, barely at eye-level with Ignis’s collarbones, but then, Prompto has never been one to let circumstances get in his way. Tugging Ignis’s head down gently, Prompto kisses him again, quick and chaste and playful until Ignis is the one to cut to the chase, grabbing him around the waist and deepening the kiss. Prompto mewls, and it’s a few seconds before it registers to his brain that Ignis is crowding him again, gently easing him back until his ass hits the edge of the kitchen counter. Maybe he should be nervous, even scared at how close and how convincing Ignis is, but somehow it’s just adding to Prompto’s high. Abandoning all pretence, Prompto lifts himself onto the countertop, legs hooking around Ignis’s hips to keep him close. Astrals help him if he gets cold feet now.  
  
“Hey, uh…” Forcing himself to think, Prompto catches his breath, the press of Ignis’s groin against his own enough to muddy his thoughts further. Unless he’s very, very much misunderstood the situation… this could escalate, even more so than it already has, and Prompto is… he flushes. It’s difficult, not even for him but for everyone else, and he never knows how or when to broach the subject with new guys, let alone ridiculously attractive ones like _Ignis Goddamn Scientia_. Chewing on his lower lip, Prompto hesitates, fixing his gaze on Ignis’s top button as he tries not to fidget. “Did you- I mean, do the Glaive check medical records?” He glances up, frowning a little and trying not to visibly hold his breath. Even though he totally is. “Cause I’m, uh-“  
  
“Yes. I read it.”  
  
“Oh thank _fuck_.” The answer is so simple, so concise, that Prompto practically goes limp against Ignis’s chest. It’s like a physical weight has been lifted, and Prompto leans back enough to catch Ignis’s gaze and grin up at him, feeling genuinely bright and playful now. He still can’t tell what the future Advisor’s intentions are, at least not yet, but he’s relieved his own cards are on the table and that Ignis knows exactly what he’s getting into. Possibly literally. Ignis’s lips quirk and he hums out a breath, surveying Prompto.  
  
“C’mon, Scientia. Don’t leave me hanging.” Prompto drawls out, willing away the heat creeping up his neck, and pressing his hips flush to Ignis’s. The travel over the last week or two has left precious few moments for _alone time_ and the heat of arousal burns through his veins, pooling in the pit of his stomach at how close the other man is. Ignis seems to be weighing his options, one hand curling around his waist to rest on the small of Prompto’s back, and the other on his hip. Ignis is quiet for a second, his whole mind zoning in on Ignis’s persistent thumb stroking over the point of his hipbone, and Prompto bites his lip. _Shit_. Maybe he’s bitten off more than he can chew here.  
  
“Hmm.” Ignis is clearly in no rush as he leans forward to kiss Prompto again, open-mouthed and wet as he presses his tongue into Prompto’s mouth, and Prompto moans out loud; fuck, he’s good at that. Where did he learn that? If you’d asked Prompto any time before tonight, _Ignis Scientia_ didn’t exactly seem to be the type to have a wealth of sexual experience. He’ll have to ask about that, Prompto muses – and the who’s and when’s and how’s – and he lifts a hand to brush his fingers through Ignis’s hair, quietly amazed at how soft it is.  
  
“You know that the Prince is my priority, of course.” It’s a second before Prompto registers that Ignis is speaking, warm breath on Prompto’s lips, and he nods stupidly, not really wanting to think about the Lucian Prince right now.  
  
“Still…” Ignis seems to be talking to himself now, so Prompto doesn’t bother replying as those long fingers snake around the waistband of his sweats. He’s pleased with himself that he manages not to keen, many _deeply_ unwanted thoughts of where _else_ those fingers could go with his absolute blessing flooding his mind’s eye. “I suppose this… may be good for international relations. Prince Noctis may actually feel it puts us in good stead for future engagements…”  
  
A tad distractedly, Prompto blinks; there’s definitely… something to those words. What is Ignis getting at? He opens his mouth to question it, when Ignis’s smile darkens to a look that makes Prompto physically ache, and the Advisor quickly abandons all pretence, that wandering hand dipping under his sweatpants to stroke Prompto through his boxers. Prompto hisses out a sharp breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Shiiiiit, _Ignis_!”  
  
“Hmm?” Those dazzling eyes flick back up to Prompto’s, and he bites his lip, trying and failing spectacularly not to melt as Ignis’s fingers ghost against him, the thin fabric of his underwear maddening. He wants Ignis on his bare skin. He’s gotta be soaking by now and he’ll be amazed if Ignis can’t feel the wetness; on cue, Ignis’s fingers brush up, right on his clit, and Prompto nearly mewls. He wants those fingers on him, _in him_ , and leaning up Prompto kisses Ignis hard, pawing his shoulder and gripping the shoulder of that stupid perfect dress shirt in his other hand.  
  
“What- what’re you waiting for?” Prompto groans out, hips working of their own accord. Ignis looks for all the fucking world like the cat that stole the canary, drank the milk or whatever the fuck, and thank the Astrals, for everything Ignis is, at the very least he makes it clear he’s not a tease as he nods.  
  
“Very well.”  
  
Everything is simple with Ignis, it occurs to Prompto, and the high-pitched, breathy sound that comes from his own mouth would be humiliating if he wasn’t so _relieved_ when Ignis pulls aside his underwear. Ignis sinks two of them into him, curling them to hit the spot that makes him see stars, and Prompto decides that Ignis’s fingers are made to fuck pussy. It’s also not lost on him the way Ignis draws a sharp breath as his inner walls twitch, and Prompto groans out as Ignis’s pupils blowing his eyes a darker green. Gods, Prompto is going to have to do this again just for that _look_. Ignis’s movements are slow, precise as he eases his fingers out of Prompto’s slick hole, and before he’s pulled all the way out he’s easing himself back to the knuckles, Prompto’s toes curling blissfully.  
  
Tossing his head, Prompto whines, trying to think. What he wouldn’t do to have Ignis’s dick throbbing inside him, but he doesn’t have condoms, and those fingers alone aren’t _nearly_ enough… goddamn it all. Bracing every ouch of courage in his being Prompto licks his lips, gripping Ignis’s arm unwillingly to stop those thrusts that are goddamn near _heavenly_.  
  
“H-hey, Iggy? Lemme suck you off?”  
  
Prompto’s voice is low and uncertain, hesitating on the nickname, but Ignis doesn’t seem to notice or care, his lips parting. If Prompto was any clearer headed he’d probably laugh at that expression, but as it is, it’s so, _so_ worth the risk. Ignis nods in one sharp movement, and Prompto’s tongue darts out, wetting his suddenly dry lips, and it’s not lost on him that Ignis’s gaze is now fixed shameless on his mouth. “A-ah, ‘kay, great, then, um-“  
  
“Ah… yes. Apologies.” Remembering himself, Ignis steps back just a fraction, pulling Prompto with him so that his feet are planted back on the floor. He’s firm in his movements and Prompto can’t bring himself to linger as he falls to his knees, his gaze at level with Ignis’s groin. A little wary, Prompto presses his hands flat to Ignis’s thighs, stroking them higher to his groin and honestly, he’s half-expecting that he won’t find any indication of interest… _how wrong he is_. Ignis is hard and thick under the fabric; he’s sizeable, certainly more than a handful, and Prompto’s thoughts crash into each other as he lingers on it, trying to make sense of all this. _Holy shit_. With unsteady hands Prompto pulls at the button and zipper on Ignis’s fly, tugging them down on the taller man’s hips, and- of course, sensible briefs, what did he honestly expect? Smiling and giddy, Prompto presses his lips to the bulge in Ignis’s underwear, loving the sharp intake of breath as Ignis grips his hair with those long fingers. Fuck, he wants to take this man apart.  
  
“Something wrong…?” Prompto asks softly, head tipping back to catch Ignis’s burning gaze as he mouths him through his underwear. Ignis groans, pained and eager and wanting, and his grip in Prompto’s hair goes nearly painfully tight. Prompto hisses, thighs pressing together and craving even the smallest ounce of friction as the pain from his hair takes his arousal impossibly higher.  
  
“ _Prompto_.” Ignis nearly growls, and Prompto shivers: never in his fuckin’ _life_ has anyone said his name like that, like a threat and a promise all in once. Ignis is going to be the death of him. “Do _not_ taunt me.”  
  
“Alright, alright… geez…” Against his baser instincts, Prompto takes pity, tugging the offending fabric down enough that Ignis’s erection springs free, and Prompto pauses just to stare at him. Ignis’s cock, as he expected, is mouth-wateringly good, fully hard and flushed an angry red at the head, and Prompto curls a palm around him, pumping a few times and relishing the way Ignis moans out, that hand stroking his hair apologetically. He’s practically melting under Prompto’s fingers, and it makes him bold enough to stick his tongue out, dragging along the underside of Ignis’s cock to swirl up and under the head, and he moans: Ignis tastes every bit as good as he looks, and Prompto is too happy to savour it, swirling his head over the slit as he palms his length.  
  
“ _Prom_ …” Ignis hisses his name again and, not willing to be distracted, Prompto lifts his eyes enough to drink in Ignis’s expression, still mouthing and licking the head like it’s the best damn ice-cream in Eos. Ignis looks _wrecked_ as he stares down at him, fucked-out and dishevelled, his mouth open and a distinct flush on his perfect high cheekbones. He’s absolutely mesmerising and Prompto can’t help but stare up at him, cheeks hollowing slightly as he suckles the head, earning himself another low moan.  
  
Ignis, though, has other ideas, and Prompto groans in half-hearted complaint when his grip tightens and Ignis pushes his head down, impaling himself deeper into Prompto’s mouth. Prompto’s grip tightens on Ignis’s trousers and he whines, brow furrowing as he wills himself to relax. It seems to be the right action, and Ignis chuckles huskily from above him.  
  
“Good boy… very good. _Relax_.” Ignis croons at him, and quickly he falls into a steady rhythm as he fucks Prompto’s mouths; a few shallow thrusts followed by a rougher, deeper thrust that he hits the back of Prompto’s throat. Prompto whines, eyes watering as he fights his gag reflex, and _fuck_ , it should not be so hot that Ignis seems to enjoy the struggle enough that his dick twitches on Prompto’s tongue. To Prompto’s shock, and deep arousal, though, he’s a _talker_ , his voice husky and rough as he fucks his mouth. “You are so beautiful like this. So pretty on your knees, taking my cock. A pretty, slutty little prince, serving even a commoner like me with that mouth… how _generous_.”  
  
It doesn’t take long after that, and Prompto feels it the moment Ignis’s thrusts begin to become erratic. Sinking himself to the back of Prompto’s throat, Ignis holds him still as he cums with a cry, riding out the orgasm as he spills down Prompto’s throat. Pulling back and out of Prompto’s mouth with a groan, Ignis holds himself up on the edge of the counter, his breathing quick and shallow, and Prompto tips his head back to watch him compose himself. Gods, even like this he looks amazing. Eventually Ignis’s eyes open and Prompto nearly melts at the slow smile that curls his features, and for a long moment they stare at each other before Ignis rights his trousers and eases Prompto to his feet and into his arms to hold him tightly. It catches Prompto unaware enough that he melts, gripping Ignis’s shirt.  
  
“That was…” Eventually Ignis seems to compose himself enough to speak, and he hums out the words, languid and unhurried, “wonderful. Thank you.”  
  
“Dude. _Anytime_.” What kind of _god_ who walks among mere mortals actually _thanks_ someone for a _blowjob_? That they offered to give? Prompto snickers, just a little. “Knew you’d be a gentleman, but this is kinda ridiculous. But… you’re welcome.” His smile is genuine as he ducks his head into the line of Ignis’s throat, suddenly shy. “That was, uh, really good.”  
  
“Should there be a next time… I’ll bring condoms.”  
  
Prompto moans. Because what the hell else is he meant to do when this incredible man is talking about _fucking him_? “ _Ignis_!”  
  
“Only an offer.” Prompto can hear the laughter in Ignis’s voice even before those gentle fingers that _still smell like him_ lift Prompto’s chin to catch his eyes. “But really. I’m glad to have you here. It’s always pleasant to have another friendly face.”  
  
Ignis’s smile is so genuine as they look at each other that Prompto feels just a _little_ better about being in Insomnia, being here, and Prompto’s smiling back. Yeah, he could _totally_ get used to this.  
  
“Yeah, dude. Ditto.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's been SO LONG since I've written a fic, let alone anything of this length! I am so proud. Hope y'all enjoyed!


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